AN   ADDRESS, 
C  OJVCMEMOR  ACTIVE 

o  F 

THEIR  FRATERNAL  DEAD 

OF  I860 : 

D  E  I.  [  V  E  R  E  D    B  E  F  O  R  E 

n  A  r .( )  I  .o  Da  K,  isro.  5, 

BT 

JOHN  A.  LODOR, 

OMoember  S7.  1^60. 


( ;  A  H  A  B  A  : 


■niM  KJ.    I!V   (  .   v..  H  VVNKS  .t   CO.,  AT  THK  CAH  V»A  SAZKTTK  .KM:   o>KICK. 

1  8  H 1  . 


George  Washington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 

FAMILY  OF 

COLONEL  FLOWERS 


^tt  pjiaorinm. 


AN  ADDRESS, 
COMMEIMORA^TIVE 

O  F 

THEffi  FEATEEML  DEAD 

OF  1860: 

DELIVERED    BEFORE 

:ha.lo  lodge,  no.  5, 

15  Y 

JOHN  A.  LODOR, 


CAHABA : 

PRINTED  nV  C.  E.  »AYNES  &  CO.,  AT  THE  CAHABA  GAZETTE  JOB  OFFICE. 
1861. 


THE  ADDRESS 


WoiiisiiiPFLL  Mastek  and  Bkethrex  of  Halo 
LoDCJE — Lai)[es  and  Gentlemen  : — This  is  one 
of  our  festive  rlays,  and  we  are  wont  to  commem- 
orate it  ill  honor  of  one  of  our  Patron  Saints. 
AVitli  us,  liowever,  it  is  a  day  of  mourning — a  day 
set  apart  to  pay  the  last  tribute  of  fraternal  affec- 
tion to  tlie  memory  of  our  brethren,  wliom  death 
has  clasped  in  his  icy  embrace  durhig  the  present 
year. 

The  day  itself — our  custom  of  observing  it — 
and  the  special  purpose  for  which  we  are  now 
convened,  all  combine  to  remind  us  of  tlie  beauti- 
ful and  significant  Egyptian  custom  of  placing  a 
SKELETON  at  the  head  of  tlic  festal  board.  There, 
in  the  midst  of  life,  and  mirth,  and  feasting,  sat  the 
ghastly  herald  and  endjlem  of  Death.  Silent  and 
motionless  amid  the  general  joy,  most  eloquently 
it  reminded  those  present  of  their  mortality,  and 
uttered,  in  language  not  to  be  misunderstood,  the 
mournful  Truth,  that  there  is  a  time  for  all  things, 
and  among  them  a  time  to  die.  No  flight  of  fancy 
— no  stretch  of  imagination  w^as  required  to  com- 
prehend the  force  of  the  lesson  taught  by  that 
grim  monitor.  It  was  the  stern  prototype  of 
Death,  presiding  over  an  assembly  in  which  mirth, 
joy,  love,  youth,  beauty,  age,  wit,  genius,  rank  and 


wealth,  tliough  all  were  there,  yet  each  one  for 
himself,  bowed  in  homage  before  that  symbol, 
whose  presence  announced  the  fact,  felt  and  recog- 
nized by  all,  that  they  too  must  die. 

Our  festive  day  is  turned  into  a  day  of  sorrow. 
We,  too,  have  a  skeleton  in  our  midst,  and  he  points 
with  his  long,  bon}^,  fleshless  finger,  to  the  vacant 
places  in  our  fraternal  circle — most  unfeelingly  he 
presses  upon  our  bleeding  hearts,  causing  them  to 
flow  afresh  in  remembrance  of  the  loved  and  lost, 
whom  his  Grand  Master,  Death,  has  taken  from 
among  us. 

But  a  twelve  month  since,  within  the  precinct  of 
our  Lodge,  our  ranks  were  filled — our  mystic 
circle  was  complete.  We  entered  upon  the  New 
Year,  with  the  future  spread  out  before  us,  bright 
with  all  the  gilding  of  Hope.  No  dark  cloud  was 
visible  in  our  sky — no  note  of  danger  was  heard 
upon  the  wind — no  shadow  of  gloom  appeared  to 
warn  us  of  the  approach  of  Death,  or  startle  us 
by  his  proximity.  In  the  vigor  of  youth — in  the 
pride  of  manhood — in  the  strength  of  age — united 
by  our  mystic  tie — hand  in  hand  and  side  by  side, 
we  entered  the  year  together.  Now,  at  its  close, 
we  pause  to  look  around  us,  and  note  the  events 
which  have  marked  its  flight.  Place  after  place  is 
vacant  by  our  side — our  circle  is  broken — our 
brethren  are  gone — our  Lodge  room  is  draped  in 
sable  wxeds,  the  mute  symbol  of  our  grief,  and 
when  we  ask  for  our  absent  brothers,  we  bow  our 
heads  in  sorrow  as  the  mournful  dirge  rings  in  our 
ear  and  imparts  their  fate — tells  us  that  the  silver 


cord  is  loosed — tlie  golden  bowl  is  broken — the 
pitcher  is  broken  at  the  fountain — and  the  wheel  is 
broken  at  the  cistern. 

Once,  twice,  thrice,  yea,  even  six  times,  lias  the 
shaft  of  the  insatiate  archer  stricken  down  a 
brother  by  our  side.  Again  and  again  were  we 
called  upon  to  suspend  our  daily  labor,  and  bury 
our  dead.  Again  and  again  was  mipressed  upon 
our  heart  and  reiterated  in  our  ear,  the  solemn 
lesson  that  from  earth  we  came,  and  unto  earth  w^e 
must  return  again. 

It  is  not  for  those  who  had  lived  their  three  score 
years  and  ten — not  those  whose  heads  w^ere  silvered 
o'er  by  age,  for  whom  we  are  called  upon  to  mourn. 
It  is  for  the  young  and  middle  aged.  For  those, 
to  wdiom  life  opened  with  apparently  a  lengthened 
vista,  and  whose  future  was  sparkling  and  bright 
wuth  all  the  rainbow  hues  of  Hope. 

Death  is  at  all  times  terrible,  even  when  he 
gathers  into  the  coffers  of  the  grave,  those  w4io, 
like  the  ripened  harvest,  had  passed  through  the 
spring,  summer,  autumn,  and  advanced  into  the 
winter  of  life  :  but  oh !  how  startling  it  is  to  see 
those  w4io  had  just  entered  upon  its  spring,  laid  in 
the  silent  tomb,  and  know  that  their  career  is 
ended  ere  it  is  well  begun.  And  yet  such  was  the 
untimely  fate  of  our  youthful 

BROTHER,  ARCHIE  DAVIS. 

He  was  the  first  for  whom  we  were  called  to 
mourn.  He  had  barely  entered  upon  his  manhood, 
and  cast  his  eye  over  the  stage  on  which  he  w^as 
just  prepared  to  become  an  actor,  w^ien  at  the  early 


J 


age  of  tweiity-throc  ycar.s,  he   fell   asle(^p  in   the 
arms  of  Death.     He  liad  just  entered  tlie  vestibuh^ 
of  our  masonic  temple,  and  stood  upon  its  beautiful 
mosaic  pavement.     Xot  yet  had  he  passed  to  the 
middle    clianiber,    and   gazed    upon    its    gorgeous 
beauty — not  yet  was  he  prepared  to  pass  onward 
and  u})\Yard  in  his  masonic  career,  and  receive  the 
sublime   and  beautiful  lessons   inculcated   in  our 
lectures,  when  he  was  called  upon  to  rest  from  his 
labor.     In  all  the   brightness  of   early  lif^ — sur- 
rounded by  the  ties  of  aifection  and  kindred — by 
warm-hearted  and  loving  friends — b}^  the  associates 
of  his  infancy  and  youth — having  at  his  command 
all  that  tends  to  make  life  desirable,  loved  for  his 
frank,    w^arm-hearted    and    generous    liberality — 
caressed  for  his  genial  and  social  disposition,   he 
had  barely  raised  the  cup  of  earthly  pleasure  to 
his  lip,  when  he  was  touched  by  the  icy  finger  of 
Death,  and  the  stern  mandate  w^as  uttered  in  his 
ear,  to  come  home !    Earth,  with  all  its  allurements, 
could  not  detain  him — youth  with  all  its  bright 
hopes — kindred  and  friends,  with  all  their  aftection 
— wealth,  with  all  its  appliances,  could  not  avert  or 
postpone  his  doom.     The  sands  in  the  glass  of  life 
were  all  spent,  and  his  brief  hour  was  past. 

KScarcely  was  our   youtliful  brother  laid  in   his 
last  resting  place,  when  another,  our  elder 

BIIOTIIER,  LEWIS  D.  WINNEMOEE, 
was  laid  l;)y  his  side.     He  was  a  generous  and  warm- 
hearted man,  and  possessed  many  endearing  traits 
of  character.     Trained  in  early  life  to  apply  him- 
self closely  to  business,   and  to  labor  assiduously 


and  perseveriiigly,  iu  liis  uianhood,  lio  departed 
not  from  the  training:;  of  Ids  youtli.  His  life  was 
an  active,  busy  and  stirrinij:  one — lie  had  been 
honored  bv  the  confidence  of  his  fellow-citizens — 
passed  through  a  prosperous  uHM'cantile  career,  and 
retired  to  the  peaceful  shades  of  private  life,  to 
enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  home  he  had  surrounded 
l)y  every  comfort.  In  the  full  maturity  of  man- 
hood— in  the  vigor  of  his  intellect — in  the  merid- 
ian of  his  existence,  happily  situated,  with  a  most 
exemplary  wife  by  his  side,  he  was  gathered  to  the 
tomb,  and  the  places  which  once  knew  him  slniU 
know  him  no  more  forever. 

Next,  in  the  order  of  their  death,  was  our  Duthful 
Junior  AVarden, 

imOTHER  ARCHIBALD  DrKHAM. 

It  is  but  right  and  proper,  that  the  just  and  good 
man,  he  who  acts  well  his  part  in  the  great  drama 
of  life,  should  have  a  higher  meed  of  praise  awarded 
to  his  memory,  than  is  given  to  those  who  are 
neglectful  or  oblivious  of  life's  duties.  If  this 
were  not  so — if  superior  worth  be  not  entitled  to 
superior  praise,  there  would  l)e  n,o  induceujent  to 
try  to  have  a  high  character  stamped  upon  our 
lives  and  actions. 

There  are  those  present  wJio  had  known  our 
brother  for  over  thirty  years,  and  surely  it  is  sweet 
incense  to  his  memory,  thaf  these  friends  of  other 
days  concur  in  the  testimony  they  bear  to  his  worth. 
His  conduct  was  ever  marked  by  strict  integrity 
and  uniform  courtesy. 

As  a  mason,  from  his  initiation  to   the  liour  of 


his  death,  there  are  but  few  in  whose  lives  the 
beauty  and  virtue  of  the  masonic  character  shone 
forth  with  more  steady  light  than  m  his.  He  had 
the  heart  to  conceive  the  beauties  of  our  order,  and 
the  obligations  it  imposed  upon  him  he  cheerfully 
and  zealously  performed.  Neither  the  fervid  rays 
of  a  midsummer's  sun,  nor  the  peltings  of  the 
wintry  blast,  ever  caused  him  to  swerve  aside  from 
the  path  of  duty.  The  faintest  wail  of  sorrow — 
the  feeblest  cry  of  distress,  ever  struck  his  attentive 
ear,  and  his  sympathy  was  manifested  in  a  prompt 
and  substantial  manner.  In  his  death,  the  Widow 
and  Orphan  have  lost  a  sincere  friend,  and  we  a 
faithful  craftsman. 

He   was  controlled  by  two  ideas.     First,   To 

KNOW  HIS  DUTY.      ScCOnd,     To    PERFORM    IT.      He 

needed  no  spur  to  press  him  onward.  With  the 
Cardinal  Virtues  to  guide  him — the  Tenets  of  his 
profession  to  aid  him,  and  his  Obligation  to  bind 
him,  he  was  as  true  to  his  masonic  duties,  as  the 
needle  to  the  pole.  He  knew  that  masonry,  like 
Christianity,  possessed  an  active  vitality,  that  lived 
in  deeds  and  spoke  in  acts. 

He  died  like  a  faithful  soldier,  at  the  station  of 
duty,  with  his  armor  upon  hhn.  His  death  alike 
vacated  one  of  the  principal  offices  in  the  Lodge, 
and  illustrated  one  of  our  most  beautiful  traditions. 
His  virtues  and  his  worth  have  been  placed  upon 
record,  and  we  have  planted  the  acacia  over  his 
grave  to  remind  us,  that  though  his  body  has  been 
returned  unto  the  earth  from  whence  it  came,  yet 
that   his  spirit,  that  immortal  part  which  shall 


9 

never,  never,  never  die,  has  returned  to  God  who 
gave  it. 

And  yet  again  the  knell  of  Death  rings  in  our 
ear — again  he  invades  our  mystic  circle,  and 
removes  our 

BROTHER,  ANTON  FALKENSTEIN, 
from  our  side.     His   "Fatherland"    was  far,  far 
away — -he  had  wandered  far  from 


the  skv  that  bent  above 


His  childhood,  lite  a  dream  of  love.'' 

Of  ripened  years — comparatively  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  and  speaking  a  different  language,  he 
yet,  in  our  midst,  found  a  home  and  a  grave. — 
Found  friends  to  whom  he  was  dear,  and  brethren 
to  whom  he  was  united.  Friends  and  brothers 
who  loved  him  for  his  quiet  and  unobtrusive  de- 
meanor, and  for  his  rigid,  stern,  old  fashioned 
integrity.  He  was  one  of  those  who,  beneath  a 
rough  and  rugged  exterior,  concealed  a  warm  and 
true  heart — a  heart  filled  with  the  milk  of  human 
kindness.  His  early  life,  we  learn,  was  one  of 
hardship  and  toil,  and  they  left  their  traces  upon 
him;  his  latter  days  passed  calmly  and  quietly 
away,  even  as  the  waters  of  a  river  glide  undis- 
turbed by  a  single  ripple,  as  they  passed  on  into  the 
great  ocean  of  eternity. 

Still  again  we  were  called  upon  to  assemble  in  a 
Lodge  of  sorrow,  and  pay  the  last  tribute  of  respect 
to  the  memory  of  our 

BROTHER,  THOMAS  W.  WALKER. 

AVhile  there  is  a  general  resemblance  among  all 
men,    there    are   yet   those   variations   that    give 


10 

to  each  an  individuality  of  his  own.  These  varia- 
tions are  often  as  visible  in  the  mind  as  in  the 
body,  and  are  often  such  as  to  attract  marked 
attention.  Our  brother  had  his  peculiarities.  He 
was  an  earnest,  plodding  man,  always  pressing 
onward  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  rarely  finding 
time  to  pass  over  to  the  sunny  side  of  life,  and  cull 
the  flowers  that  here  and  there  are  found  along  its 
path.  His  life  was  one  of  incessant  toil.  Early 
and  late  he  found  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  labor 
for  the  cherished  ones  whom  God  had  entrusted  to 
his  care.  Like  a  faithful  and  true  hearted  man,  as 
he  was,  he  diligently  applied  himself  to  the  task 
of  providing  for  those  dependent  upon  him.  His 
footsteps  were  beguiled  by  the  sweet,  though  often 
illusory  v/hisperings  of  Hope,  and  were  urged 
onward  at  the  instance  of  Love. 

In  public  and  in  private  life,  he  w^as  a  man  to 
be  esteemed.  To  habits  of  industry,  he  added 
perseverance  and  integrity.  Upright  in  all  his 
dealings,  he  was  a  warm  friend — a  good  citizen — 
a  faithful  public  officer — a  zealous  mason  and 
christian — a  most  devoted  husband  and  father. 
He  was  an  invalid  for  years,  and  at  last  fell  a 
victim  to  disease. 

Well  may  we  shed  a  tear  to  his  memory ;  but  it 
is  not  for  him  alone  that  w^e  should  mourn.  His 
death  was  doubtless  a  happy  release  from  suffering. 
It  is  for  the  widow  and  the  orphan  that  we  should 
grieve.  The  prop  is  broken  on  which  they  leaned 
— the  staff  is  gone  on  which  they  were  dependent 
for  sustenance — the  husband  and  the  father  is  dead. 


11 

and  tliey,  the  dear  objects  of  his  love  and  care, 
are  left  sorrowing  and  alone,  snrrouuded  by  a  cold, 
unfeeling  and  uns3^mpatliizing  world. 

We  turn  from  these  sorrowing  friends  to  others 
wdio  also  have  claims  upon  our  friendship  and  love 
— to  others,  whose  hearts  are  writhing  in  anguish 
over  the  loss  of  a  husband  and  a  father.  To  their 
wail  of  sorrow  for  their  sad  bereavement,  we  too 
unite  our  voices,  and  lament  the  untimely  death  of 
our  friend  and 

BROTHER,  ENOCH  G.  ULMER,  M.  D. 

He  was  a  man  of  mark  and  note — one  of  Nature's 
noblemen.  To  a  warm,  generous  and  noble  heart, 
he  added  a  most  genial  disposition — rare  conversa- 
tional powers — a  well  stored  mind  and  agreeable 
manners.  He  had  attained  high  professional  emi- 
nence, and  his  skill  and  talents  commanded  the 
esteem  and  confidence  of  his  professional  brethren 
and  the  public.  He  was  at  once  the  cherished 
friend — the  beloved  companion — the  useful  citizen 
— the  skillful  physician,  whose  presence  dispelled 
the  gloom  of  many  a  sick  room,  and  whose  skill 
restored  many  a  sulFering  friend  to  health.  For 
years  he  was  a  slave — a  slave  to  his  friends  and  his 
professional  duties.  Early  and  late,  at  morning, 
noon  and  midnight — winter  and  summer — in  sun- 
shine and  in  storm,  he  ever  pressed  on  in  the  path 
of  duty.  Thus  constantly  employed  for  many 
years,  he  yet  found  time  to  enter  our  mystic  temple, 
and  engaged  in  his  duties  as  a  craftsman,  with  all 
the  freedom,  fervency  and  zeal  of  his  enthusiastic 
nature.     The  foundation  of  his  masonic  character 


12 

was  well  laid,  and  the  moral  edifice  lie  reared  upon 
it,  thongli  not  faultless,  was  yet  such  as  to  com- 
mand the  esteem  of  his  brethren.  His  trowel  was 
kept  bright  by  constant  use. 

A  beautiful  trait  in  his  character  was  his  benev- 
olence. The  appeal  for  alms  or  aid,  was  never 
unheeded.  His  charity  was  dispensed  with  un- 
stinted liberality,  and  his  sympathetic  nature  was 
too  often  imposed  upon  by  the  crafty  and  designing. 

With  a  high  appreciation  of  the  sublime  and 
the  beautiful,  he  ever  paused  to  render  them  the 
homage  of  his  admiration — nor  did  he  fail  to  gather 
the  flowers  which  blossomed  along  his  path,  and 
in  their  fragrant  beauty  recognized  the  handiwork 
of  his  and  their  Creator. 

Wealth,  pleasure,  happiness  and  joy  were  un- 
carecl  for  by  him,  unless  they  were  all  shared  by 
the  friends  by  whom  he  was  ever  surrounded.  He 
never  had  a  selfish  thought — he  never  did  a  selfish 
act.  Thus  did  he  live  and  labor  for  many  years, 
until  at  length  exhausted  nature  could  no  longer 
bear  the  heavy  burdens  he  laid  upon  her,  and  he 
fell  a  victim  to  that  grim  tyrant,  whose  power  he 
had  so  often  baffled. 

One  after  another  we  have  seen  our  brethren 
gathered  to  the  tomb,  and  we  have  mourned  for 
them  and  for  ourselves.  Now,  this  dear  friend — 
this  dear  brother,  is  added  to  the  number.  Verily, 
the  cup  of  our  affliction  is  filled — filled  to  the  brim, 
and  in  all  its  bitterness  we  are  compelled  to  drain 
it  to  the  dregs. 

Would  that  we  could  do  justice  to  his  memory. 


13 


and  i^roperly  express  the  high  meed  of  praise  so 
justly  his  due.     We  can  only  say 

"  None  knew  bim  but  to  love  bim 
Nor  named  bim  but  in  praise  ;  " 

that  his  loss  to  his  family— his  host  of  friends, 
and  this  community,  is  irreparable.  A  place  is 
left  vacant  that  will  not  soon  be  filled.  A  bright 
light  of  the  fireside — the  social  circle — the  sick 
chamber— and  the  Lodge  room,  is  utterly  extin- 
guished, and  the  sad  wail  of  lamentation  for  his 
death,  vibrates  and  finds  an  echo  in  every  heart. 

Sad  was  the  fate  of  our  friend  and  brother,  and 
deeply  do  we  regret  it.  Kindly  will  we  remember 
him,  until  our  hearts  have  ceased  to  beat  their 

"  Funeral  marcbes  to  tbe  grave." 

And  now  our  task  is  almost  ended.  We  have 
not  the  temerity  to  enquire  why,  oh  why !  are  we 
thus  afflicted?  We  try  to  yield  with  humble 
submission  to  the  w411  of  Him  who  doeth  all  things 
w^ell,  satisfied  that  it  is  for  some  wise  purpose  He 
has  inculcated  these  sad  lessons  of  mortality  upon 
us.  It  may  be  as  a  warning  to  us,  to  set  our  house 
in  order— a  notice  to  us,  to  prepare  for  that  dread 
hour  when  we  too  must  enter  the  dark  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death.  It  may  be  an  unpleasant, 
yet  surely  not  an  unprofitable  reflection,  to  re- 
member the  Egyptian  custom  to  which  we  have 
already  alluded.  We  stated,  we  had  a  skeleton  at 
our  festal  board.  It  was  an  error,  for  we  have  six 
— six  vacant  places  are  by  our  side — six  voices  from 
the  tomb,  are  ringing  in  our  ear — six  grassy  mounds 
tell  us  the  saddest  of  all  sad  stories— that  of  man's 
mortality.     Clear  and  distinct  as  did  the  Egyptians 


14 

impress  the  idea  of  death  upon  themselves,  it  is  yet 
more  clearly  and  vividly  impressed  upon  lis.  To 
them  it  was  presented  in  a  single  view — ^to  ns,  in 
varied  forms.  Youth  and  beauty — manhood  in  its 
strength,  and  wisdom  in  its  pride — to-day  they  are 
ours,  to-morrow,  they  share  the  bed  of  the  earth- 
worm. Alas !  for  the  pomp  and  vanity  of  human 
life.  What  is  it  all  w^orth,  when  w^e  view  its 
termination  ? 

"  'Tis  the  glance  of  an  eye,  'tis  the  draught  of  a  breath 
From  the  blossom  of  health,  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  saloon,  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud, 
Oh  J  whj'^should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  ?  " 

How  frail  the  tenure  by  which  human  life  is  held 
— how  often  w^e  witness  its  abrupt  and  awful  term- 
ination? Untold  examples  are  ever  before  us,  in 
the  chapter  of  casualties,  by  which  we  see  in  an 
instant  all  ranks  levelled— all  distinctions  done 
away.  Young  and  old — rich  and  poor — the  proud 
and  the  humble — the  prince  and  the  peasant — the 
master  and  the  slave,  all  with  their  lives,  yield 
©eb^dience  to  the  despot,  Death,  and  at  his  com- 
mand, assmiie  their  places  among  "the  pale  nations 
of  the  dead."  Over  the  living.  Death  reigns 
supreme. 

All  nature  tells  man  the  story  of  dissolution. 
On  every  page  of  her  volume  it  is  illustrated.  In 
every  form  it  is  presented  to  view,  and  pressed 
home  upon  him  in  every  manner.  Even  the  spider's 
web  afibi\ls  us  a  lesson  on  which  we  may  muse 
and  meditate.  Who  has  not  looked  upon  it  with 
surprize  and  admiration,  as  he  noted  the  numerous 
gossamer  threads,  radiating  from  a  given  centre, 


15 

with  the  most  beautiful  reguh^rity,  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  these  are  crossed  and  recrossed,  over  and 
Dver  again,  by  many  parallel  Unes,  which  to 
wondrous  beaut}^  gives  it  greatest  strength.  How 
light,  how  airy,  how  artistic,  and  how  beautiful 
this  web !  and  yet  it  is  the  frailest  of  all  frail 
things ;  a  wave  of  the  hand,  and  it  is  brushed  out 
of  existence  for  ever.  It  finds  its  parallel  in  human 
life.  Youth  is  its  radiating  point ;  the  ties  of  home, 
country,  kindred,  love,  friendship,  wealth,  beauty 
and  power,  are  a  few  of  its  radiating  lines — the 
warp  of  life.  The  pleasures,  joys  and  amuse- 
ments which  surround  us,  interwoven  as  they  are 
with  myriad  hopes  and  fancies,  are  the  parallel 
lines — the  woof  in  the  mystic  web  which  combine 
to  make  life  beautiful  and  existence  desirable. 
Should  the  finger  of  death  touch  it,  in  a  moment 
it  turns  to  ashes ;  but  if  for  a  time  it  escapes  such 
a  fate,  as  anticipations  end  in  disappointment,  as 
kopes  fade  away,  as  joys  perish  and  give  place  to 
grief,  as  pleasure  is  supplanted  by  sorrow,  as  friends 
and  kindred  fall  by  our  side,  thread  by  thread  of 
the  web  is  broken,  its  beauty  destroyed,  its  strength 
gone,  the  wreck  of  a  once  young  and  hopeful  life, 
toils  on  with  a  sad  and  heavy  heart,  craving  only 
a  sweet  skmiber  in  the  bosom  of  our  mother  Eartli 
— a  resting  place,  where  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

While  our  brethren  have  passed  away  to  their 
long  home,  while  we  commemorate  their  virtues 
and  their  worth,  and  embalm  their  memory  in  our 
hearts,  we  have  yet  another  duty  to  perform,  and 


IG 

it  is  one  we  miist  not,  dare  not,  ignore.  It  is  to 
remember  kindly  the  sorrowing  kindred,  the  fathers 
and  mothers,  sisters  and  brothers,  the  widows  and 
orphans  of  our  deceased  brethren. 

While  we  mourn  over  our  loss,  we  must  remem- 
ber theirs.  It  is  heavier  than  ours.  The  manly 
form,  on  which  the  father  and  mother  leaned  with 
confidence  to  sustain  their  faltering  footsteps  to  the 
grave,  he  whom  they  w^ould  have  near  them  in 
their  last  hour,  to  close  their  eyes  in  death,  and 
shroud  them  for  the  tomb,  has  gone  before  them, 
and  they  are  left  in  all  the  dreariness  of  a  desolate 
old  age,  to  pursue  the  weary  remnant  of  lifers 
journey,  alone,  to  the  grave.  Have  we  no  sorrow 
— no  sympathy  for  such  a  grief  as  theirs?  The 
brother  and  sister,  whose  hearts  were  filled  with 
fraternal  love  for  him  who  had  been  nourished  at 
the  same  maternal  font,  who  had  shared  all  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  childhood,  the  hopes  of  youth 
and  manhood,  have  seen  the  form  of  him  they  loved 
laid  in  the  bosom  of  our  common  mother.  Again, 
we  ask,  have  we  no  tears,  no  sympathy  for  such 
a  grief  as  theirs?  The  widow  and  the  orphan, 
how  shall  we  speak  of  them?  how  shall  we 
measure  their  loss  and  their  grief?  The  husband 
wedded  in  early  manhood,  he,  who,  before  God's 
holy  altar,  had  sworn  to  love,  cherish  and  protect 
the  trembling  and  fragile  form  by  his  side,  who  had 
travelled  along  the  path  of  life  her  safe  protector 
and  her  guide,  whose  heart  had  beat  in  unison  with 
hers,  and  shared  her  every  joy  and  care,  is  now  no 
more.     The  oak  is  stricken  down  by  the  thunder- 


17 

bolt,  and  the  ivy  is  left  without  a  support,  clinging 
still,  not  to  the  oak  as  in  days  gone  by,  but,  to  the 
sweet  memories  of  the  past — the  shadow,  merely,  of 
a  shade.  The  widow  is  left  desolate,  broken  hearted 
and  alone.  The  orphans,  poor,  little,  helpless 
innocents!  The  father,  in  whose  smile  they  lived, 
whose  presence  made  their  young  hearts  bound 
with  joy,  whose  labor  furnished  them  food  and 
raiment,  who  guided  their  youthful  steps  through 
the  perils  of  childhood,  and  whose  pride,  as  well 
as  duty,  it  w^as  to  educate  them  for  future  useful- 
ness, is  gone,  forever  gone.  They  have  no  father 
save  Him  in  heaven.  Again  we  ask,  have  we  no 
tears  to  shed  for  them — no  sympathy  for  such  a  grief 
as  theirs?  May  God  in  His  mercy  help  the  widow 
and  the  orphan !  May  He  be  a  Husband  to  the 
wadow,  and  a  Father  to  the  fatherless. 

If  there  be  a  single  mason  present  who  has  for- 
gotten or  neglected  his  duty,  we  admonish  him  at 
once  to  clear  away  the  rubbish  that  chokes  up  the 
fountain  of  charity  in  his  heart.  Smite  its  ada- 
mantine walls,  even  as  Moses  smote  the  rock  in  the 
wilderness,  and  let  its  pure,  sweet  waters  gush  forth 
free  and  unrestrained.  Every  heart  has  within  it 
the  elixir  of  life,  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth  ; 
give  it,  oh !  give  it  fair  play,  and  its  owner  will 
never  shrink  into  the  avaricious  miser,  whose  God 
is  seen  on  every  coin  he  grasps. 

One  by  one,  have  our  brethren  gone  to  the  tomb. 
They  have  finished  their  pilgrimage  on  earth,  and 
now  inhabit  the  silent  city  of  the  great  King,  Death. 
We  are  travelling  the  self  same  path  they  trod,  and 


IS 


our  journey  lias  the  same  destination.  Every 
second  draws  us  niglier  unto  it,  and  at  any  moment 
we  may  arrive  there.  No  human  power  can  avert 
it.  It  is  the  crowning  point  of  human  lite,  the 
moment,  at  which  man  stands  upon  the  verge  of 
two  w^orlds,  when  he  takes  a  swift,  rapid  and  com- 
prehensive view  of  his  past  career,  and  endeavors 
to  comprehend  its  just  value  as  a  preparation  for 
that  eternal  world  on  wdiich  he  is  about  to  enter. 
With  the  certainty  of  our  destination  before  us, 
with  the  knowledge  of  our  speedy  arrival  there,  it 
surely  behooves  man  to  prepare  to  meet  his  destiny. 
And  how  shall  we  prepare  ?  We  do  not  propose 
to  trench  upon  the  province  of  those  whose  duty 
it  is  "to  point  to  heaven  and  lead  the  way,"  but, 
as  a  mason,  we  feel  at  liberty  to  point  to  that  God 
in  whom  every  mason  heretofore  declared  he  put 
his  trust,  to  those  great  lights  to  be  found  upon 
our  every  altar — the  Holy  Bible ;  that  inestimable 
gift  of  God  to  man,  the  rule  and  guide  of  our 
faith,  is  there ;  there  too,  w^e  learn  to'  square  our 
actions  with  all  mankind,  and  circumscribe  and  keep 
our  passions  within  due  bounds.  In  a  nutshell, 
our  whole  duty  is  placed  before  us,  and  the  injunc- 
tion is  ours,  to  perform  it  with  regularity. 

The  standard  of  masonry  is  a  high  one ;  but,  oli ! 
how  few  live  up  to  it,  how  many  fall  below  it — 
and  some,  we  say  it  "more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,''  there  are  some,  whose  lives  are  a  libel  upon 
the  institution  of  Freemasonry.  Hold  up  before 
you,  my  brethren,  the  mirror  of  Truth,  and  scruti- 
nize your  image  as  reflected  in  it ;  test  it  by  plumb. 


19 

square  and  level,  and  satisfy  yourself,  if  you  can, 
that  you  still  stand  before  your  brethren  and  the 
world  the  j  ust  and  upright  mason  you  once  ap- 
peared to  be.  If  the  examination  be  unsatisfactory, 
at  once  repair  your  moral  and  masonic  edifice; 
repair  the  wrong  you  have  done  yourself  and  your 
brethren.  Let  the  Cardinal  Virtues  be  ever  your 
guide.  They  are  Temperance,  Prudence,  Forti- 
tude and  Justice — the  masonic  North,  South,  East 
and  West.  Let  these  bright  virtues  mark  your 
lives,  your  habits  and  your  conversation.  Let 
Temperance  be  your  North  Star;  ever  behold  it, 
beautifully  represented  upon  the  masonic  chart  by 
a  youthful  virgin  leaning  against  a  broken  column, 
with  a  pitcher  of  Water  by  her  side — Water,  cold 
Water,  be  it  observed,  pure,  sweet  and  fresh  as 
that  found  by  Hagar  in  the  desert. 

Each  of  these  virtues  will  impart  their  own 
impressive  lesson,  and  lead  us  straight  into  the 
beautiful  path  of  a  mason's  life.  However  sadly 
we  may  have  erred  heretofore,  however  widely  we 
may  have  wandered  from  the  true  path,  we  shall 
yet  find  that  our  brethren  will  cast  the  mantle  of 
Charity  over  us,  and  become  oblivious  to  our  faults, 
our  follies  and  our  sins ;  even  as  we  have  cast  it 
over  the  memory  of  our  departed  brethren,  and 
have  forgiven  and  forgotten  theirs.  Their  voices, 
sweet  with  the  tones  of  Brotherly  Love,  strong  in  the 
power  of  Truth,  will  come  to  our  Relief,  and  guide 
us  back  to  the  path  of  rectitude.  When  the  fra- 
ternal grasp  is  given,  and  the  strong  arm  thrown 
around  a  wayward  or  an  erring  brother,  to  support 


20 

his  weak  and  faltering  footsteps,  when  good  counsel 
is  whispered  in  his  ear,  when  his  most  hidden 
thought  is  safely  deposited  in  a  brother's  faithful 
breast,  w^hen  he  remembers  that  on  bended  knee  a 
voice  is  raised  to  heaven  in  his  behalf,  surely,  with 
such  aids  as  these,  such  love  as  this,  the  w^ayward 
and  the  erring  will  no  longer  refuse  to  return  to 
the  path  of  duty,  of  safety,  and  of  honor.  It  is  a 
broad,  clear  and  beautiful  way,  embellished  with 
shade  trees  and  flowers,  and  the  air  is  fragrant  wdth 
sweet  perfume.  It  leads  us  through  all  the  cham- 
bers of  our  mystic  Temple,  w^here  we  are  taught 
the  great  lesson  how  to  live,  onw^ard  to  the 
Temple  of  Christianity,  where  w^e  are  taught  that 
other  lesson,  how  to  die.     For  full  well  we  know 

"  'Tis  not  the  whole  of  life  to  live 
Nor  all  of  death,  to  die." 

Here  again  we  must  pause,  or  encroach  on  the 
province  of  others.  By  travelling  the  path  we 
have  feebly  endeavored  to  point  out — by  learning 
the  all  important  lessons  how  to  live  and  how  to 
die,  w^e  may  take  the  acacia,  our  own  beautiful 
emblem  of  immortality  in  our  hand,  and  while 
yielding  obedience  to  Death,  we  can  still  enter  the 
tomb  and  find  its  dark  precints  illumined  by  the 
Christian's  Hope — its  portal,  but  the  door  opened 
for  us  to  a  better  and  brighter  world  than  this. 
Thus  we  fondly  hope  our  brethren  have  found  it ; 
thus  we  hope  that  w^e  may  find  it,  for 

"  Death's  but  a  path  that  must  be  trod 
If  man  would  ever  pass  to  God." 


#ttr  Jfrattraal  gtai. 


ARCHIE  DAVIS. 


$m  ^frattnnil  §«iK 


LEWIS  D.  WINNEMORE. 


#«r  ifratfnmf  Qra^.  I 


ARCHIBALD  DURHAM. 


fur  Jfrdtrnal  ^ak 


ANTON  FALKENSTEIN. 


6in:  ^ratcniiil  gcab. 


THOMAS  W.  WALKER. 


fur  Jfnttoal  §tA 


ENOCH  Q.  ULMER 


